AN EAST-END TRAGEDY.
You said that you would never wed:
"My love, my life's one work lie here,
'Mid crowded alleys, dank and drear,
Where all life's flower-petals are shed!"
You said.
I heard: I bowed to what I heard;
I bowed my head and worshipped you—
So brave, so beautiful, so true—
How could I doubt a single word
I heard?
My sweet, white lily! All the street,
As you passed by, grew clean again;
The fallen, blackened souls of men
Looked heavenward when men heard your feet,
My sweet.
But one came, dared to woo, and won—
He heard your vows, and laughed at them;
He plucked my lily from its stem—
Sacred to all men under sun,
But one!